


delicate in every way but one (the swordplay)

by above_the_fold



Series: glory and gore [2]
Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Especially Benji, Ethan/Benji if you want, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, I saw that tag in some other fic and I couldn't wait to use it, Late Night Conversations, Late Night Grocery Store Runs, Luther be Knowin', Minor Injuries, Platonic Relationships otherwise, Sarcasm, Sharing a Bed, Stitches, Team as Family, Tears, from all sides
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/above_the_fold/pseuds/above_the_fold
Summary: “Somebody needs to stay with him,” Brandt says, gesturing to Ethan’s prostrate form with one foot. “Why don’t you—”“I’ll go,” comes a voice from the door.They all turn—Ethan lifts his head as much as he can from his spot on the floor. Benji is standing there, coat thrown over his Star Trek pajamas and hair damp from the shower, looking miserably at them. “What does he need?”-Ethan is unsurprisingly injured. Benji wrestles with something more than guilt.Post-Rogue Nation. Title from "Glory and Gore" by Lorde.
Relationships: Benji Dunn & Ethan Hunt, Benji Dunn & Luther Stickell, Ethan Hunt & Everyone, William Brandt & Ethan Hunt
Series: glory and gore [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024678
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	delicate in every way but one (the swordplay)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Expendable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836911) by [snovyda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snovyda/pseuds/snovyda). 



They check into a motel near the airport just before midnight. Ethan handles things at the front desk while Brandt paces the lobby, phone in hand as he briefs Hunley. 

Benji leans, exhausted, half against the wall and half against Luther’s shoulder. The older man shoots Ethan a long-suffering look that he doesn’t bother returning.

Benji’s gaze never leaves him. 

He slides the last of their fake passports forward, deliberately avoiding the younger man’s eyes. They haven’t actually spoken since their reunion at the Tower. The ride to the motel had been silent, save Luther’s snoring and the occasional swear from Brandt as he navigated London traffic. He and Benji had sat shoulder to shoulder in their stupid police uniforms, the unspoken words of—gratitude? Sorrow?—heavy between them.

He runs a tired hand through his hair and immediately regrets it as a shard of glass slices his finger. _How the fu—_

Oh, yes. Jumping through windows. 

Brandt and Benji are in a room down the hall from Ethan and Luther; the two older agents leave them fighting over their shower (the money’s on Brandt) and proceed to their own room to do the same.

It ends the way it always does—Ethan pinned beneath a victorious Luther—and he busies himself with the start of the mission debrief as the older man takes the shower. He’s borrowing Brandt’s tablet—his own is cracked beyond repair, and Benji lost his when he was frisked upon arrival at Lane’s headquarters.

Stretching out on the floor, he opens the folder labeled “Syndicate_2011” (has it really been four fucking years?) and drafts a new file. Most of the existing reports are his; there are a few from Brandt. A few from Agent Carter before she was transferred to Special Activities. One from Luther, that Ethan knows he wrote from a hospital bed in Kabul after taking a bullet in the thigh during the Kandahar mission. Back when this shit all started.

Benji’s name is absent from the folder—Ethan is silently, overwhelmingly grateful.

There’s going to be some serious fallout from this one, he thinks as he breaks down the (unsanctioned) mission objective. They’re probably all due in for their annual psych evaluations anyway—he hesitates before noting a possible follow-up with the field team psychologists under Benji’s name. It’s an executive decision, one that Benji quite possibly might resent him for when they arrive back in D.C., but… he’s considering it himself. The sight of Benji tied down to that bomb burns behind his closed eyes, mere hours later.

“Shower,” Luther announces, stepping around him and holding out a hand for the tablet. “I got this.”

He hands it up to him. “You can take Personnel. Go easy on Brandt. Not all of his objections were unreasonable.”

Luther scoffs, but Ethan sees the proud gleam in his eyes and knows they’re both equally pleased with the team’s work tonight.

He brushes his teeth and spends an obscene number of minutes picking miniscule shards of glass out of his hair. When he steps out to retrieve his bag, he finds Luther stretched out on his bed snoring, tablet on his chest. Typical.

Ethan slips the device onto the bedside table and heads back into the bathroom. Turning on the spray, he lets it warm as he strips down, and immediately yells at a sudden stinging sensation in his right leg.

There’s a terrible sound of skin tearing accompanied by a fresh sting of pain that leaves his eyes watering—when he looks down, he sees the gash that ends just above his knee, littered throughout with fine bits of glass and surrounded by an impressively darkened ring of bruises.

He stumbles away from the wall, muffling a particularly violent swear as his leg thumps the edge of the tub. This is… not good, but certainly not the worst he’s ever had, and certainly nothing Luther can’t fix—

—but they don’t have a kit with them, because _of course._ He’s just resigned himself to picking out the glass with his dirty fingernails when there’s a knock at the door.

“Ethan?”

Brandt’s voice. He stumbles again, this time managing to catch himself on the sink. “I—give me a minute.”

Of course not. The door swings open a moment later, revealing a confused Luther and an annoyed Brandt. It must be a sight: him slumped over the vanity, half-naked and dripping blood everywhere. Still, he manages to look irritated. “ _What?_ ”

“Ethan, you bastard,” Luther mutters.

“Sorry,” he hisses, relaxing as they step inside and his trembling hand is replaced by Luther’s steady one. “I just—forgot.”

Brandt moves quickly to his other side, and he is led out of the bathroom and lowered to the carpet. “We can’t put him in the bed with all that blood,” the younger man says, quite unnecessarily. “The housekeepers will think we committed a murder.” 

“I’m real close,” Luther says. Ethan’s known him long enough to know he means it, too. “Grab a towel, quick.”

He watches with half-lidded eyes as Brandt obeys, scowling. The pain in his leg seems to have caused some perverse reaction—suddenly he’s aware of a dull ache in his ribs (left side) and a shallow burning sensation at the back of his neck. Probably a result of more glass, he thinks bitterly. 

“I think this is gonna need stitches,” Luther says, frowning down at his injured leg. “Where else does it hurt, dumbass?”

Ethan merely groans. Luther shakes his head but gently runs a hand over his side. “You know I can’t do anything about broken ribs. We’re gonna have to do something about this cut, though. Can’t let it get infected.”

“Oh, let me get out the medical kit, then,” Brandt snaps. “Ask him if he wants some painkillers before you operate.”

“Your room’s down the hall if you want to keep being a smartass,” Luther growls. “Obviously we’ve got nothing here. There’s a drugstore on the corner. We’ll just have to run there.”

“Somebody needs to stay with him,” Brandt says, gesturing to Ethan’s prostrate form with one foot. “Why don’t you—”

“I’ll go,” comes a voice from the door.

They all turn—Ethan lifts his head as much as he can from his spot on the floor. Benji is standing there, coat thrown over his Star Trek pajamas and hair damp from the shower, looking miserably at them. “What does he need?”

“Don’t worry about it, Benji,” Luther says gently. “I’ll take care of it, you should get some sleep—”

“No, no,” Benji mumbles, looking more pathetic by the second. His gaze falls on Ethan; his resolve appears to stiffen. “It’s not—not any trouble, I’ll…” He trails off, opens his mouth again—and disappears. 

Ethan struggles up, suddenly and irrationally cold with fear. “Benji?” he calls through the open door, but the younger man is gone. “Benji!”

_Lane’s men are still out there—!_

“Relax,” Luther says, and Ethan hates the knowing look in his eyes. “I’ll catch up to him. You know he hasn’t gone far.” He heaves himself to his feet, fixes Brandt with a stern glare. “You stay with this idiot. Don’t let him get up.”

He grabs his hat and leaves, ignoring their protests. Brandt is glaring across the room at him. Ethan drops his head, eyes closed behind his shaking hands, and makes a mental note to add a follow-up evaluation under his name, too. 

They wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments appreciated, as always. 
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone!


End file.
